


One Half

by aritzen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aritzen/pseuds/aritzen
Summary: Five times they don't see each other, and one where they do. AU.





	One Half

**1A**

  


He is standing at the intersection, waiting for the lights to change, when he turns his head and sees it. In front of the empty bus stop, on the pavement damp from the falling snow is a single red mitten. _Oh,_ he thinks, intrigued. _Someone dropped that._

The crosswalk light is still red, so he tells Kenma that he’ll be right back and strides toward the bus stop before Kenma can reply. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want the snow to bury the mitten. It’s hand-knitted, he discovers as he picks it up and brushes the snowflakes from it. There’s a cute pattern of a black cat on its back, which amuses him so much that he holds it up to show Kenma, who, to his dismay, is already halfway across the intersection. Spotting a small tree but no benches nearby, he slips the mitten over a bare branch and hurries after Kenma.

*

Yaku jumps off the bus, the slush on the sidewalk squishing under his sneakers as he rushes to the intersection. He searches the bus stop across the street, hoping that no one has tossed his mitten—a birthday present from his mother—into the trash. This is the only place he could’ve dropped it since he remembers putting on his mittens when he left school and taking them off when he was fumbling for his Pasmo card in order to board the bus that he raced to catch.

 _What the fuck,_ he thinks after he crosses the street and catches sight of his red mitten hanging on a tree branch. Who put it there? And on a branch that he has to stand on tiptoe to reach? A stupid prankster is who, he concludes as he shakes the snow off his mitten and stuffs it into his bag with his other mitten. Someone he’ll never get a chance to thank, and somehow it bothers him more than it should.

  


**2B**

  


“Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

There is a beat, and Kai hears a sigh on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know, man. I have two exams next week and a problem set due tomorrow. And the talk isn’t even in Tokyo. It’s in friggin’ Yokohama.” 

“It’s half an hour by train. You know it takes longer than that to get to some places in Tokyo.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m not leaving my room.” 

“Are you still bitter that you didn’t get into Keio? It was your first choice, wasn’t it?” 

“What? No! Why would I be bitter about that? Am I that petty a person? In fact, I can’t believe _you_ are going, Kai. Isn’t Keio your rival school? Try walking around with your Waseda sweater.” 

“We may never get another chance to hear this speaker in person.” 

“Just means our schools gotta step up their game and invite him to speak again. To us. Not the Keio snobs.” 

“Well, all right then. My train is coming. I’ll talk to you later. Best of luck on your exams.” 

“Thanks.” _Let me know how the talk goes,_ Kai doesn’t hear but ends up reporting on it anyway on his way back. 

The ginkgo foliage at Keio is stunning; the speaker was outstanding as expected; he met a Keio student named Yaku Morisuke who sat next to him in the auditorium, and they had a pleasant conversation about the talk afterwards. _You should’ve gone,_ he writes in his text message. _Not all Keio students are snobs._

 _Feh,_ is Kuroo’s reply.

  


**1/2**

  


Kuroo glances at his watch and then at the storm. About fifteen minutes have passed since he sought shelter in the convenience store, but the rain hasn’t relented. It’s not a typhoon, but it might as well be in this wind tunnel of a street. Sighing, he dons the raincoat he has bought to replace his broken umbrella and steps out the sliding doors.

A gust hits, as sudden as a bolt from Zeus, and Kuroo hears someone yell profanities at the sky. His jeans and sneakers are already soaked, but he’s stubbornly clinging onto the umbrella that he has tilted forward to block the wind. _Just give it up, buddy,_ Kuroo thinks and observes, “The wind is troubled today.” 

“No shit,” Yaku mutters in response to the stranger with a nice voice if a lazy drawl. He senses the other running past in the opposite direction, splashing through puddles, but before he can look up, another gust sweeps through the street. “Argh, fucking wind,” he snarls and snaps his umbrella shut so that it won’t flip inside-out. He should learn to embrace this summer shower, he decides as cool water droplets begin to roll down his face, because it’s definitely too late to regret not taking a cab home for Obon. 

_Fucking wind._

  


**1B**

  


The hotel check-in time is 2pm. Yaku arrives a little before 10am.

Setting his duffel bag on the floor, he settles into one of the two armchairs in the lobby. Across the side table is another guest with a small wheeled luggage, playing a Pokemon game on 3DS. _Pudding head,_ Yaku thinks after throwing a glimpse at the dyed blond hair and black roots. 

Minutes pass. Yaku crosses his legs, jiggles his foot, takes a sip of water from his plastic bottle, checks his phone. Nishinoya’s train is on time and scheduled to arrive at noon. Yaku’s stomach growls. His initial plan is to wait for Nishinoya, but when his gaze lands, for the eighth time, on the lobby cafe selling overpriced pastries, he grabs his bag, hands it to the concierge in charge of luggage storage, and marches out of the hotel. It’s a warm spring day, and Osaka is famous for its food—he’s not going to spend two hours cooped up in a hotel lobby, hungry.

*

The hotel check-out time is 12pm. Kuroo finishes packing a little after 10am.

He steps into the bathroom to check his hair one last time and makes a face when he sees that the tuft of hair he tried to flatten with water earlier is standing up again like a boner. “Why,” he asks his mirror reflection in desperation. He wets that tuft of hair again, turns on the hair dryer to its highest setting, and runs a comb through his hair in a poor imitation of what hair stylists do. Failing that, he ruffles his hair to hide mess with mess, but he’s certain all he has achieved is announcing to the whole world that Kuroo Tetsurou has no concept of a hairbrush. 

Kenma is waiting downstairs, he suddenly remembers and gives up on his hair. Their train back to Tokyo leaves at 11:40am. Maybe he can buy a hat at the station or something. 

“Sorry, Kenma,” he says as he enters the lobby. “My hair—” 

“Just check out so we can catch our train, Kuro,” Kenma says without looking up from his game console. 

“Right,” says Kuroo. He hesitates at the sight of the empty chair across from Kenma, places his travel bag next to Kenma’s luggage, and goes up to the hotel reception.

  


**2A**

  


“I’m really sorry, Kai.”

“Please don’t be,” Kai replies as he leaves the noisy karaoke room and finds a quiet spot in the hallway to take the call. A muffled but nevertheless horrible cough sounds over the phone.

“I was really looking forward to this...” 

Yaku’s clear voice has been reduced to a miserable croak, and Kai is the one who feels sorry. 

“I know,” he says. 

“I thought I would get better in time for your party. It got worse. Stupid cold.” 

“There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to meet. Just focus on getting better first.” 

“Yeah, I guess...” 

Yaku apologizes again while Kai reminds him that it’s fine so please get some rest even though it’s New Year’s Eve. He ends the call with a heavy sigh and returns to the karaoke room. 

Yamamoto is still singing into the microphone, butchering some love song. The others are at the table, where someone has introduced a drinking game involving Uno. “Draw four! Blue!” Sugawara declares, throwing down a card, and laughs when Konoha swears. 

Kai taps on Kuroo’s shoulder. 

“Wassup?” Kuroo says as he sets his cards face down and leans backwards. 

“Unfortunately, the friend I wanted you to meet is sick and can’t make it.” 

Kuroo blinks and then smirks. “Sure he didn’t chicken out? I bet he chickened out.” 

“No, he didn’t. He’s really sick. I was thinking—” 

“Hey, Kuroo!” Bokuto slams his fist on the table in front of Kuroo. “Your turn! Draw two!” 

“What? Draw two?” Kuroo turns back to the game and examines his cards. He picks out a red Draw Two and tosses it onto the blue one. 

“No!” Daichi exclaims and glares at Kuroo, who flashes a shit-eating grin in response. 

“Kai, you’re back!” Sugawara says with a bright smile. “Come join us!” 

Kai sighs, glancing at Kuroo, who is clearly more interested in the drinking penalty that Daichi has to pay than what Kai has to say about a future date. 

_I’m really sorry, Yaku._

  


**2/2**

  


Yaku sees him before he sees Kai standing in front of the restaurant, and he nearly stops in the middle of the intersection, startled. The guy is tall—taller than Kai and taller than most people he knows. The guy is also familiar—for no apparent reason because Yaku is ready to bet three hundred yen that they have never met before. Or is it the hair? Maybe it’s the duck butt hair.

Kuroo sees him as he walks up to them, beautiful brown eyes peering at him in bewilderment but also in a way that makes his heart skip a beat, maybe three. _Damn, he’s cute,_ Kuroo thinks. Even the slight frown. Especially the slight frown. He wants to say something, anything, to the cute stranger, but the only words at the tip of his tongue come from a cheap novel where the protagonist vows to find his other half no matter how many lifetimes they have to go through. He doesn’t care if he makes a fool of himself in front of Kenma and Kai, but somehow he has a feeling that the small cutie won’t be impressed, and he really wants to impress him. 

When Kai introduces them, they both stare at him: Yaku, in confusion, because nothing in Kai’s message said they were getting dinner with others; Kuroo, in shock and disbelief, because this is the person Kai has always wanted him to meet—at the New Year’s party, at Yaku’s birthday dinner three months ago, which he declined to attend because he didn’t exactly know the guy and because he was already in a relationship at the time. 

Kenma, who has been silent and nondescript through the introduction, speaks up, still looking at his phone, “I’m off. I’m meeting Shouyou.” 

“What?” Kuroo blurts out. “So you’re not actually treating me to an early birthday dinner?” 

“No.” 

“It’s your birthday?” Yaku asks. 

“No, it’s not!” Kuroo rushes to reply. 

“His birthday is next Friday,” Kenma adds before taking his leave with a nod. 

Kai opens the door to the restaurant and gestures for them to enter. “Please,” he says, smiling. 

By now, Kuroo is suspicious of Kai’s true intention. He should’ve guessed when Kozume Kenma of all people offered to buy him dinner and then suggested that they sit together with Kai and the mysterious friend after they “accidentally” ran into each other at the restaurant entrance. His suspicion is confirmed when Kai tells the waitress, “Table for two. These two.” 

Yaku gives Kai an even more confused look. “What do you mean you’re not eating with us?” 

“I meant to ask you if you wanted to get dinner _with Kuroo Tetsurou_ ,” Kai explains as he moves toward the exit. “But I couldn’t fit the entire sentence into one text message. So I left that part out.” 

“Huh? There’s a character limit? Why didn’t you send two messages then? And why would you leave out the most important part of a sentence?” 

Ignoring Yaku, Kai says to the two of them, “This is the most I can do. The rest is up to you.” 

“Wait, Kai!” Yaku shouts after the rapidly receding figure but to no effect. He looks at Kuroo, at the waitress puzzled by the exchange, and at Kuroo again, his heart hammering. “Er...” 

“Well, looks like we were duped and dumped,” Kuroo notes in amusement and resignation. An elaborate ploy like this can only be designed to fool the gods or fate itself. Scratching his head, Kuroo says, “Since we’re here... want to get dinner? I mean, you don’t have to. I would love to, but you don’t have to. Uh...” Did he say the same thing twice? 

“I...” Yaku glances at the waitress and at Kuroo again, this time no longer able to look away from the earnest expression that takes his breath away. He wets his lips and smiles. “Yeah, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/aritzen) | [writing journal](http://aritzen.dreamwidth.org/tag/fic:+one+half)


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